


In Your Sorrow (I Am Here)

by Bitterblue33



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Male Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-08-06 11:27:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16386932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bitterblue33/pseuds/Bitterblue33
Summary: After Zach’s father dies, Justin tries to be a supportive friend. It’s a little touch and go.





	In Your Sorrow (I Am Here)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thomasnewtminho29](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thomasnewtminho29/gifts).



> Although it is not canon, I assumed that Zach’s father died in a car accident—which seems to be the prevailing fan theory.
> 
> Thanks to the lovely Thomasnewtminho29 for lamenting with me over on Tumblr about the lack of Justin and Zach friendship stories.

Two days after Mr. Dempsey died, Justin packed a bag and walked over to Zach’s house.

Luckily, it was Zach who answered the door. He looked the same as usual: tall and strong and composed. Justin didn’t know why he expected him to look different. Tall and strong and worn, maybe. Or tall and devastated. (Not broken, though. Never broken.)

Justin gave him a bro hug and a fist bump. “It’s fucking shit, what happened.”

“Yeah,” Zach said, as casually as if they were talking about an air ball or an undeserved personal foul. “Thanks for all the texts. Sorry I didn’t respond.”

“I didn’t expect you to, Dempsey.”

“Oh, well.” Zach waved a hand dismissively. “Things are kind of crazy around here. Were you just stopping by or…?”

Justin lowered his head and scuffed his shoes. It wasn’t hard to feign looking pathetic; it came naturally. “I know the timing really sucks, but can I stay over for a few nights? My mom’s new boyfriend is a total dick.”

“Sure, man.”

And that was how Justin invited himself over to Zach’s house to watch over his friend. Pretty fucking smooth.

 

* * *

 

“Justin, this is a private time of grief for our family.” Mrs. Dempsey emphasized the word _private_ , which was her way of politely telling him to “fuck off.” Justin was usually amused by her well-mannered attempts to get him to leave. (“Don’t you think your mother is wondering where you are?” or “Zach, you need to focus on your schoolwork. Say goodbye to your friend for the night.”) On any other day, Justin would have taken Mrs. Dempsey’s hint and not overstayed his welcome. 

Not today.

“I know it’s a private time,” Justin said, rooting around in the drawer by the stove. “Hey, where do you keep the chopsticks?” 

Mrs. Dempsey looked at him with extreme distaste. Justin did not understand her reaction because he wasn’t being racist. The Dempseys sometimes ate with chopsticks, and it was one of the few skills Justin couldn’t master. He had the brilliant idea that it might make May laugh if he ate a bag of potato chips with chopsticks. That was the only reason why he was asking.

Mrs. Dempsey showed him where the chopsticks were (but not without giving him severe side-eye), and then Justin went back to May’s bedroom where Zach and May were huddled together on her bed in a pile of pillows and stuffed animals.

Justin made a complete idiot out of himself while eating potato chips with chopsticks. May laughed. Zach did not.

 

* * *

 

After his shower, Justin walked into Zach’s bedroom and found his friend crying. Not like sobbing or anything. Just sniffling. Eyes red and shoulders hunched over his knees... shaking, but in a restrained way. 

When Zach saw him standing there, he straightened his back and hastily rubbed his nose. “Allergies,” he said. 

Right. Okay. That was how they were going to play it.

“Don’t they make a spray for that?” Justin threw his towel on Zach’s desk chair. “Wouldn’t want anyone to think you were crying like a little girl.” 

“You mean like you do every time you have sex?” Zach tackled Justin down onto the air mattress by his bed. Justin wrapped his legs around him and tried to flip him. It usually wasn’t so easy to do, but Zach was, understandably, off his game, and he rolled over without much of a fight. 

What followed wasn’t so much wrestling as it was slightly aggressive hugging. And if, at some point, Justin cradled Zach’s head against his neck more gently than he would have any girl’s, well, no one had to know about it but them.

 

* * *

 

Justin couldn’t sleep. He was too aware of every rustle of fabric, every sigh, every creak that came from Zach’s bed. Zach was clearly restless and it made Justin’s throat tight. When it became too much for him to handle, he ventured, “Dempsey?”

“What?”

“You want some weed?”

“Seriously?”

“It might help you fall asleep. I’ve got some in my bag… if you want?”

“No.” 

Well, fuck. Justin didn’t know what else to do. It wasn’t like he could crawl into bed beside his friend or some shit like that. They weren’t five years old. If Bryce found out, they would never hear the end of it. So, each time he started to drift off, Justin dug his nails into his skin. If Zach wasn’t getting any sleep, then Justin didn’t want to either. 

Solidarity.

 

* * *

 

Mr. Dempsey’s funeral. The whole basketball team showed up. So did most of the baseball team. And the football team. It was like an athletic event or something. It was a hot day and everyone was (quietly) complaining about the black suits they had to wear, which irritated Justin because the only people who had a right to complain about anything were Zach and May and their mother. But the three Dempseys were as stoic and collected as ever, a total class act. 

Because Zach and May spent most of the ceremony surrounded by relatives and other random adults, Bryce thought it would be a good idea to get drunk and eulogize Mr. Dempsey amongst themselves as they passed around a flask. Which was fucking insensitive or something but Justin participated because what the fuck else was he supposed to do? 

In the weeks to come, one image from the graveside ceremony would haunt him: Zach, his hands on May’s shoulders, staring down at his father’s grave—a towering and forlorn figure, impossibly alone in the midst of a shifting sea of black silhouettes.

 

* * *

 

The first thing Mrs. Dempsey did when they returned to the house was make a business call. The first thing May did was break down into tears and collapse on the floor. So, of fucking course, the first thing Zach did was pick up his little sister and carry her to the couch where he clutched her to his chest and murmured a mixture of English and Mandarin into her ear.

Justin felt like an intruder so he wandered into the backyard and smoked a joint behind a tree, fully aware that if a neighbor saw him, it would be the scandal of the century. He didn’t really care. 

Eventually, Zach found him there. “May wants to watch a movie. One of those cheesy chick flicks. So, if you want to go hang out in my room, that’s fine.”

“Fuck no,” Justin said. “I’m in. Let’s make popcorn.”

 

* * *

 

Justin wouldn’t lie about it: The movie was kind of vomit inducing. But then he saw how much May was enjoying it, and it became fucking awesome. 10 out of 10 stars. 

They didn’t eat much of the popcorn. Instead, they threw it at each other, at first attempting to catch it in their mouths but then failing spectacularly on purpose. They had to stop when Mrs. Dempsey strolled into the den with a scowl. She made May pause the film so that she could lecture them for five minutes straight about household etiquette. 

The scolding was clearly for Justin’s benefit since Mrs. Dempsey ended it with: “I don’t know how they do it on the other side of town but _we_ take pride in our home. Does this look like section 8 housing to you? Clean this up.”

Justin supposed he should have been shamed by Mrs. Dempsey’s words, but, really, he just found it funny. Her husband had died and her face hadn’t cracked once but, upon finding popcorn strewn on her floor, she had become as angry as a rainstorm. Talk about fucked up priorities.

The three of them picked up the popcorn by first flicking it into messy piles and then trying to make shots into an upheld trash can. (May would obliterate the competition if she ever wanted to join the basketball team.)

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Mrs. Dempsey left for the day to “make arrangements” (whatever the fuck that meant). Justin took it to mean that he was in charge. He wanted to make sure Zach and May had a nice lunch, but he couldn’t cook for shit and Mrs. Dempsey apparently didn’t put much stock in frozen dinners. So Justin left the house and walked to Bryce’s.

“Can you float me some cash?” He didn’t know why he phrased it that way because both he and Bryce knew he would never pay it back. Bryce, always generous, opened his wallet and handed him two twenties.

“How’s Zachy doing?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” Justin shrugged. “Fine, I guess.”

“Well, you’ve been staying with him, right?”

Justin swallowed and looked away.

“What, you thought I didn’t know? What have you two got going on over there and, more importantly, why didn’t you invite me?”

“Because Zach’s not in the mood for a fucking party right now, Bryce.”

“Well, I bet he’d be in the mood for some weed, right? Or maybe something stronger?” Bryce slung his arm around Justin and leaned in close. “How about I round up some girls and you bring him over here? We’ll make sure he has a good time and forgets all about his dad.”

 _Forget about his dad?_ The idea made Justin want to punch someone. Himself, mostly. “Zach wants to be alone.”

“I think he’d much rather be over here where the action’s at than stuck with only your stoned ass for company.” Justin flinched. Bryce laughed and then cuffed his head lightly. “Justy, I’m kidding.”

“Well, I’m not.” Fury boiled inside him. “Leave him alone. Okay?” Justin gritted his teeth. “Please?”

“Okay. Chill, man.”

 

* * *

 

Justin used Bryce’s money to order three pizzas: stuffed crust, a mix of toppings, fucking paradise in food form. He waited on the front porch of Zach’s house for them to be delivered, and, while he waited, he imagined that it was his house instead—that he was fucking rich and could order food whenever he wanted and people would beg _him_ for money and he would give it to them without expecting something in return.

When the pizzas finally came, Justin carried them into the house and set them on the kitchen table. He immediately knew something was wrong. There was a dark glint in Zach’s eye when he looked at Justin and he practically tore the lid off of the first pizza box when he opened it. 

May was excited about the prospect of all that beautiful grease and garlic, but Zach was cold and distant. He hardly touched the ham and cheese pizza, which Justin knew was his favorite, and after May finished eating and went to practice her violin, Zach wasted no time in hitting Justin on the shoulder with the flat of his hand.

“Bryce texted me. He said you wanted to go over to his place but I said no, you couldn’t? You’re a real ass, Justin. I’m not fucking holding you hostage here.”

Justin didn’t know how to respond to that accusation without throwing Bryce under the bus. So he didn’t say anything. 

Zach didn’t demand that Justin leave. So he didn’t do that either.

 

* * *

 

When Mrs. Dempsey came back home, she stared challengingly at Justin and then asked Zach if he had done his chores and if he had called Coach Rick. (She didn’t ask her son if was doing okay, which seemed a glaring omission, but what did Justin know?) Later, May had dance class, which left Zach and Justin alone, a thrum of tension in the air.

Zach paced back and forth in the living room and then, all of a sudden, he announced that they were going over to Bryce’s house. “Are you coming?” he asked Justin impatiently.

Justin had a feeling that Zach was doing this to prove a point or maybe to humor him, both of which were shit reasons. He should protest, right? List all of the reasons why it was a bad idea? Instead, he obediently followed Zach out to his car and climbed into the passenger seat. 

Zach adjusted the dials on the dashboard for what seemed like ten minutes while Justin stared morosely at the side mirror. When Zach finally started the car, he backed it halfway down the driveway and then slammed on the brakes. Justin, startled and annoyed, glanced at his friend. His hands were trembling on the steering wheel. He kept pushing himself backward in his seat like he thought the windshield was going to shatter and spray glass into his face.

“Zach,” Justin said carefully. “Let’s go back inside.”

“We’re going to Bryce’s,” Zach insisted, being difficult. “To blow off some steam. Don’t start with me, Justin.”

“Fine,” Justin agreed bitterly. “Then switch seats with me. I’ll drive.”

Zach laughed sharply. “You’re not driving my car.”

“Come on, Dempsey.” When Zach didn’t budge, Justin continued, “Look, I’ll stop at all the stop signs. I’ll obey the speed limit, the whole deal.” He dropped his voice. “I’ll be careful.”

Zach put the Audi in park and then rested one hand on his seatbelt. He still looked like he was about to skydive off an airplane (without a parachute), so Justin, as soothingly as he could, said, “It’s okay. I’ll go really fucking slow. Let me drive, bro. _Please._ ”

He hadn’t really expected Zach to agree, but, at last, Zach gave a shaky nod and they switched seats. Justin drove them over to Bryce’s and, because he was an amazing friend, he let an old granny walking on the side of the road outpace them. A drive that should have taken 10 minutes took them 25.

 

* * *

 

Their time at Bryce’s was absolute shit. Nothing happened worth talking about. 

The time after Bryce’s, when they were back at Zach’s house, was 10,000 times better. They did the exact same crap they had done at Bryce’s—eat junk food, play video games, smoke a joint (okay, only Justin did that but Zach looked tempted for a solid minute), but it felt different. It felt like _friendship_ instead of an extended session of trying to one-up each other.

As the night wore on, their gameplay became desperate. Opponent after fucking opponent, a bloodbath without end. Zach was usually competitive, but, for some reason, his character kept dying over and over again in rapid succession. As soon as his avatar popped back to life, it swiftly was blown up, stabbed, or eaten alive by an easy-to-defeat monster. Zach must have been doing it on purpose. It was a cry for help if Justin ever saw one. 

Justin intentionally ran his own character into a pit of acid and then threw his controller to the side. Zach’s face was shuttered, a blank wall, a painting devoid of any color. Justin didn’t know if it bothered him more to see it that way or to imagine it twisted into anguish on the day he had gotten the news: _"Zachary... it’s your father."_

Helpless, but determined, Justin tapped two fingers on Zach’s wrist—unsure if the contact would be welcome, if it would be okay. There was no reaction so Justin added a third finger and then, what the fuck, just went for it and curled his whole hand around Zach’s forearm. He kept a steady pressure and when Zach sagged forward slightly, Justin fully committed and lightly stroked his thumb in a continuous circle that he hoped Zach knew meant _I’m here for you_ and not _I’m making a pass at you._

He thought maybe he should say something, but he was always better at speaking through touch so he removed his hand and confidently draped his arm around Zach’s shoulders, which required some awkward shifting before it was comfortable. The physical closeness didn’t make Zach fall apart or confess his feelings or some chick flick shit like that (although it would have been okay to Justin if it had).

They sat in the same position for a long time. It was kind of nice, but then Zach coughed and Justin immediately knew that it was a signal, which either meant “get the fuck off” or “I’m okay now.” Justin casually removed his arm and then he reached across Zach’s lap for the TV remote—as if that was what had caused him to hold Zach in a half-hug for fifteen fucking minutes in the first place.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, man, don’t you think your mom misses you?”

Since the hint was from Zach this time and not from Mrs. Dempsey, Justin took it as his cue to depart. “Oh, yeah, for sure. I’d better go.”

Justin walked the long way home. He wasn’t in a rush about it. He found his mom curled up in a ball on her bed, a needle tangled up in her fanned-out hair. Justin gingerly extracted the needle and then dropped it in the metal can that they kept in the bedroom for that purpose. He kissed her forehead. 

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hey, honey.” She smiled up at him vaguely. “How was school?”

“We’re on a one-week break.” It wasn’t true. Justin had bailed on summer school for the last few days, courtesy of a forged sick note from his mom and his very best take-pity-on-me eyes, which had reduced the school’s administrative assistant to putty in his hands.

“Oh,” his mom mumbled. “Where have you been then?”

“I’ve been at Zach’s house. His dad died.”

“Okay.” She turned away from him. “There’s food in the fridge.” Justin tucked a blanket around her and went to the kitchen.

When he opened the fridge, he found two beers, a bottle of ketchup, and a jug of spoiled milk. Not surprised, Justin grabbed a beer for his dinner and collapsed on the couch. All he could think about for the rest of the night was Zach, who was stuck in an empty house with a mother who was every bit as emotionally distant as Justin’s own.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Justin tried to restrain himself. He really did. There was nothing more he could do for his friend, and anything he tried would most likely do more harm than good.

But, by two in the afternoon, he was bored out of his skull so he gave in to his initial impulse:

> **Justin:** _U want to go to the bb court?_
> 
> **Zach:** _With Bryce?_
> 
> **Justin:** _no. just us._
> 
> **Zach:** _Yeah. I’ll pick you up in ten._

Justin considered offering to walk over to Zach’s so that he could drive them both to the playground, but he guessed he couldn’t be around all the time to be Zach’s chauffeur. Hopefully, if Zach really hadn’t wanted to drive, he wouldn’t have accepted Justin’s offer.

They played basketball until they were hot and sweaty (and delightfully gross). Exhausted, they laid down on the asphalt, legs splayed out, and looked up at the clouds.

Justin figured he should say something sincere. Something Bryce wouldn’t think to say. It was a lot of pressure. One wrong word and everything would go to shit. “Zach… I have no idea what you’re going through. Do you want to talk or something? Like, about anything?” Carelessly, as if it even fucking mattered, he added: “I can handle it.”

Zach started speaking almost immediately, no delay or deflection. “I thought Dad would be around forever. That he was invincible.” His voice was strained and hoarse, as if his throat had been shredded into bloody ribbons—a hidden wound that was heard but not seen. 

“Yeah.”

“I mean I knew he would die one day, but not for a really long time. Death… it seemed like something that happened to other people. Other families. Which I know is stupid…”

“It’s not stupid.” 

“I always figured Dad would help me pick out my first apartment. Help me choose the right college. Walk May down the aisle at her wedding. I guess that’ll be me now, which is fine, but it should have been Dad. And, fuck, he’ll never get to meet his grandkids. Or take Mom to China for their anniversary like he promised he would.” 

Justin remained silent, waiting Zach out. The mild weather seemed out of tune with the mood of the moment. The sky above them was too blue, too pure for so much awfulness. He wished it would thunder. A dark cloud could at least have the decency to roll in from the west.

“It’s like I have to reimagine my entire future,” Zach said. “So much of what I had planned is impossible now because Dad can’t be a part of it. But… the worst part is May. Her life is divided now into ‘before Dad died’ and ‘after Dad died.’ She should have had more time with him, more memories.”

A bead of sweat slid off Justin’s forehead, slowly trailing down his temple. He was tempted to let a tear join it, just for the hell of it. “That’s the saddest fucking thing I’ve ever heard.”

Zach’s anger flared hot and fast. “Fuck you, Justin.”

Justin covered his face with his hand. “No, fuck, I didn't mean it as a put-down. Shit, man. I meant it the way I said it. It's really sad. Like it makes me want to bawl my eyes out, it’s so fucking sad.” Which was his way of saying, _If you want to bawl your eyes out, it’s cool with me._ But, given what he had said to Zach a few nights ago about crying, Justin thought the message probably fell flat. 

“Oh,” Zach said. “Yeah, it is.”

Justin wished he could channel Coach Patrick, who always found some light to share with them in a bad situation. But this wasn’t a basketball game. They couldn’t stage a comeback in the 2nd half. They couldn’t turn the loss into a win next week. It was finished. A crushing defeat. 

“It shouldn’t have been your dad,” Justin said. “I don’t know, maybe…” He trailed off in uncertainty but then finished the thought, “It should have been, like, my mom or something instead.”

“Fuck, Justin,” Zach admonished. “Don’t say shit like that.”

“Whatever.” It _had_ been a shitty thing to say. How was he going to look his mom in the eye the next time he saw her? 

“You know…” Zach began, “I asked Bryce about your mom’s boyfriend.”

Justin’s insides twisted and then painfully tightened into a block of ice. _Shit._

“He said your mom broke up with the last guy two weeks ago and she hasn’t found anyone new yet.” 

Justin, instantly defensive, sat up on his elbows. “Zach, I-, look, I-, I know I lied but-”

Zach cut him off. “Shut up, will you? I’m trying to say thank you.”

Justin turned his head to look at his friend and, even though there was an obvious wetness in Zach’s eyes, Justin refused to look away. For a brief moment, there was nothing hidden between them, nothing taboo or out-of-bounds.

Zach smiled. (How could a fucking smile look so damn sad?) Then he shrugged and added, “If he’s still bothering you—your mom’s imaginary boyfriend—you could stay over at my house tonight. Do you want to?”

Justin hesitated. “Your mom will hate it.”

“So? Dad just died. I should be allowed to have my best friend stay over.”

An invisible barrier rose up, impenetrable and unbreakable. What the fuck could Justin say? _Bryce_ was his best friend, and Zach knew it. Justin's first loyalty would always be to Bryce, and he couldn’t lie and claim that Zach was something to him that he wasn’t. 

But, apparently, a response wasn’t expected because Zach sat up, pulled Justin upright with an outstretched hand, and tossed him the keys to his car.

 

* * *

 

Mrs. Dempsey wasn’t around so Justin raided the fridge. Zack didn’t comment on his appetite, but, like a jerk, he kept asking him if he wanted to use chopsticks instead of a fork. 

Afterwards, they went to May’s room and she helped them pick out half a dozen board games to play. The ultimate winner would get to choose the night’s movie. (May would win for sure, and not because they would let her win. She was just that good.) 

The evening stretched out, weirdly pleasant and relaxing. Watching Zach with his sister—how he praised everything she did; how he joked around to get her to smile, even though he had to be aching inside; how he found any excuse he could to brush her hair back from her face or caress her back—Justin wished he could be brave enough to say to him: “You’re a better friend than Bryce is. A better brother.” 

But, of course, if Justin were being truly honest with himself, he would first need to say: “I shouldn’t be your best friend, Dempsey. You deserve a better best friend than me.”

**Author's Note:**

> • I am (overly) invested in Zach and Justin's friendship and want them to be kind and gentle with each other. Season 3… please!! *puppy eyes*
> 
> • I sort of disregarded the canon timeline, but pretend this one-shot is set before Hannah texted Zach her condolences about his father.


End file.
